A bench by the river, Soft flow with birdsong And winds blowing an unseasonal cold, Amongst clouds that languidly float Reflected in the river calm. Dogs pass on eager walks. Or curious, appear by my side uninvited, A sniff and a cocked leg and not even a goodbye. The owners cock an eyebrow And cast a hurried hello. The joggers and walkers Dodge the cyclists and talkers, Jumping at insistent bell rings That chime with the cathedral As the hour moves to eleven. Snatches of conversation, Doppler drift on the breeze. It's madness, unbelievable, they say. But what, I can not catch. The sentence fades to silence. The river breaks its reflection To the rower's rhythms And the chug of the narrow boats, That scatter the swans in panicked frenzy, Seeking the banks and reed hides. Now the memories return. Brought downstream, eddying and swirling. Two years and more since we were the walkers, And talkers and passers by. Where someone else was sat on A bench by the river. _____________________________ Memories of past walks and time by the river. The scene is the same, life continues, the walkers and joggers, rowers and cyclists continue. The river flow and birdsong. But everything is different. And always will be. Thinking of my beautiful daughter Milla. God bless. Miss you. Every day. XxxX
